


The Future Is

by Kalya_Lee



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen, a sonic screwdriver is a very phallic thing, freud - Freeform, parodic misogyny, the Sisterhood (tm)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 19:02:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16124762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalya_Lee/pseuds/Kalya_Lee
Summary: “Have you considered changing your name?” asks Missy. “I was thinking possibly the Nurse. The Apothecary. Doctorette.”“I will throw you,” says the Doctor, “out the airlock.”





	The Future Is

**Author's Note:**

> In celebration of Thirteen’s imminent debut (!!!) I present to you...

“This,” says Missy, “is a sonic screwdriver.”

She holds it up in front of the Doctor’s face, wiggles it about. The Doctor stares at it, then at her, then back at the screwdriver. It looks a little different now, from this body. A little more... phallic. _Very_ phallic, actually. Has it always been this phallic?

A few of Donna’s remarks make more sense now, in hindsight. Also, Amy’s. And Martha’s, and -

Oh dear.

Missy wiggles the screwdriver again, more aggressively this time. She presses a button and the tip lights up. The Doctor winces.

“You hold it like this,” says Missy, lifting her hand in demonstration. “And you push this button to make it go.”

“How did you even get in here?” the Doctor asks. She can feel a headache starting up; it’s probably only forty percent because of the regeneration. “I thought you were dead.”

“Oh, that,” says Missy, waving a hand. “We’re not talking about that. What we’re talking about is this very _delicate_ , very - _sensitive_ \- piece of... _equipment_.”

The Doctor rubs at her temples, hard.

“Please stop,” she says.

“Sorry, have I touched a nerve?” says Missy, looking hopeful. “Hit a certain - sore spot? Am I perhaps reminding you of a recent, painful loss?”

“What,” says the Doctor.

“Because, you know,” continues Missy, “one of your Earth doctors has this sort of theory - “

“What.”

“ - that people have some kind of attachment to this particular, this really vital appendage - “

“What? _No_!”

“ - goes around here,” says Missy, gesturing helpfully towards her skirts. “I don’t really know what it’s useful for but apparently people go absolutely bonkers without it.”

The Doctor rubs at her temples again. It doesn’t help.

“You were bonkers already,” she manages.

“Well,” says Missy, looking almost touched.

“I can’t believe you spoke to Sigmund Freud,” says the Doctor. “I’ve never spoken to Sigmund Freud. I saved Hitler’s life once.” She pauses, blinks. “That sentence got away from me a little.”

“It happens, dear,” says Missy, leaning across the console to pat her hand. “Especially at that time of the month.”

“I will throw you,” says the Doctor, “out the airlock.”

“It’s this button over here,” says Missy, pointing at the self-destruct.

The Doctor sighs.

“I know how to use a sonic screwdriver,” she says, “I don’t have amnesia, that was a different me. And if you want to trick me into blowing up my own TARDIS you’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”

“Are you sure?” says Missy. “Because you know everyone knows that women can’t drive.”

The Doctor glares. Missy smiles at her, eyes wide and innocent. The Doctor glares some more.

“What,” she says, “do you want.”

“Have you considered changing your name?” asks Missy. “I was thinking possibly the Nurse. The Apothecary. Doctorette.”

“Martha’s going to kick your arse when she hears about this,” mutters the Doctor.

Missy shrugs. “What else is new?”

“I didn’t change my name when I murdered most of the Daleks and shunted Gallifrey into an alternate dimension,” says the Doctor. “I’m not going to change it now.”

“Suit yourself,” sighs Missy. “Some people have no sense of style.”

The Doctor thinks back through her outfits of years past and wisely says nothing.

She looks at Missy. Missy looks at her. They stare at each other for a long moment. 

“Look,” says Missy, finally. There’s something different in her tone, something softer, heavier, more true.

“I’ve been in this body for a while. I’ve learned quite a few things you don’t know anything about yet. And one of those things is that when you look like you and I do now things get a whole lot more annoying. People don’t listen to you. They try and explain things you already know. They ask irritating questions. They keep trying to blow you up - well,” she pauses, considering. “Maybe that’s just us.

“Anyway, you’re going to be facing all that, from now on, and I just wanted - “

And she leans forwards, looks the Doctor right in the eye, and the Doctor can see it again, that thing she always sometimes sees in Missy: something like care, very like love. Something mad and biting but still, somehow, warm. Something that means that they are what they are: implausibly, impossibly, eternally friends.

“I just wanted,” says Missy, deadly serious, “to be the first.”

The Doctor puts her palm over her face.

“You’re awful,” she says. “You’re just - completely awful.”

“I know,” says Missy, disgustingly smug.

“Is it really going to be like that?” asks the Doctor, and if she sounds a little more desperate than she wants to, well.

Missy tilts her head.

“More or less,” says Missy. “Especially the blowing you up part.”

“Oh,” says the Doctor. Then: “oh, hell.”

Missy grins.

“Don’t worry,” she says, “it’s definitely worth it.”


End file.
